Diet is a Four Letter Word
by Charli Cameron
Summary: A postChristmasdinner converation about Dean's eating habits.


Dean fell back heavily onto the motel bed. "Oh man!" he sighed, and patted his stomach, "Say what you like about her, and I frequently do; Ellen sure knows how to cook a mean Christmas turkey. I swear I am never going to eat again."

Across the other side of the room, Sam snorted.

Dean raised his head slightly to shoot him a look, "What?"

Sam looked at his watch, "Give it a couple of hours and you'll be rooting around looking for doughnuts like a pig snuffling for truffles."

Dean popped the buttons on his jeans and slipped a hand under the waistband of his shorts, "What are you trying to say?"

"What did you eat today Dean?"

"What do you mean, what did I eat today, _Sam_? I ate Christmas dinner, like everyone else."

"No. You do not eat dinner like everyone else. What did you eat today?"

"Well I started with a light breakfast…"

Sam snorted again, "That consisted of?"

"Bacon and eggs."

"And?"

"Hash browns."

"And?"

"Sausage, toast…"

"Pancakes."

"Yeah pancakes."

"With butter and syrup."

"What's your point?"

"What did you eat for Christmas lunch?"

"Same as you, turkey and trimmings."

"No, not the same as me. You ate half the damn turkey, a mound of stuffing, mashed potatoes and candied yams. No carrots, no peas."

"I don't do the veggie thing. Except for the yams and the mash."

"They're full of carbohydrates."

"They're full of cream and butter the way Ellen cooks 'em.", Dean patted his stomach again.

"I'm just saying."

"No Sam, you're not. You're not saying anything. Spit it out."

"You eat. A lot."

"I have a healthy appetite."

"Yeah, if you were Mexico. You eat no fruit, no vegetables. And don't think I don't know about the Twinkies."

"I have no idea what you're talking about little brother."

"You have love handles."

Dean sat up, "What? I do not."

Sam raised his right eyebrow, "Sure you do. Haven't you started to notice that your tees are fitting a little tighter than they used to?"

Dean tugged the hem of his shirt down over his waistband, "A couple of them shrunk in the wash is all."

"Dean, I'm telling you, you've got to start taking care of yourself. You gotta start eating the greens man."

"You know I don't eat anything green."

"You could try a piece of fruit once in while."

"I eat tomatoes, they're fruit."

"When have you ever eaten a tomato?"

"Pizza sauce is made from tomatoes."

"That doesn't count."

"There's onions and garlic in there too. And oregano."

"Oregano is a herb."

"It's still green."

"It's a condiment."

"I do not have problems with my weight."

"Button your jeans."

"What?"

"Button your jeans without sucking in your gut."

"I've just eaten a full Christmas dinner."

"You just keep telling yourself that, what ever helps you sleep at night."

"I sleep just fine thanks."

"No you don't. You snore and you pass gas, as a result of all the crap you eat."

"And of course your farts smell of roses. I'm not like you, I can't live on lettuce leaves and lemon juice."

"Diet isn't a four letter word Dean."

"Hey, I follow my own diet. I have two words for you: Atkins."

Sam looked at him as one might look upon a child with special needs. "I swear you were dropped on your head as an infant. Atkins is one word, two syllables."

"It's as much meat as I can eat. I say bring on the cows."

"And that's another thing. You gotta stop eating the blue steaks."

"Even blue is overcooked. I say wheel in the cow, show it a match until it flinches and then slap it on the plate."

"Ew. Seriously dude, your colon probably contains an entire herd of beef cattle."

"It's a man's colon Sammy."

"It tends to smell like something crawled up your ass and died."

"That hurt."

"Couldn't you just eat a salad once in a while? Eat chicken instead of steak. Have an apple instead of a Twinkie."

"Where do you get this idea that I'm always eating Twinkies?"

"Dude, I know about the secret stash."

Dean raised his hands, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Come with me."

"What? No."

"Only because you can't do up your jeans."

"Okay, fine."

Dean stood up from the bed and buttoned his fly, making sure that Sam noticed how much he wasn't holding in his stomach. He had to admit though; the waistband did feel a little snug. He shrugged to himself, he had just eaten the better part of a Christmas bird, any man's pants would be a little tight.

He followed Sam out of the motel room to where the Impala was parked. Sam pulled open the driver's door and started ferreting about under the driver's seat. "Hey, get out from under there." Dean objected, "You'll damage the upholstery."

"Ah ha!" Sam grinned in triumph and waved a box of Twinkies at him.

"I have to hide them, they're chocolate covered and you'd eat them all."

"Since when do I eat Twinkies?"

"I know you have a secret sweet tooth."

"There is no ingredient in these that is found anywhere in nature. They're just additives and sugar."

Dean took the box from Sam's grasp, "Don't listen to him babies," he cooed to the snack cakes "he doesn't love you like I love you."

"Veggies, Dean."

"No."

"Fruits and vegetables, and lots of water."

"Can't I just take a vitamin supplement?"

"Your skin will look better?"

"What the hell is wrong with my skin?"

"It's sallow."

"You're…sallow."

"Lame, man."

"Make it your New Year's resolution."

"I don't want to."

"Oh stop sulking. The truth hurts. Deal with it now while you're young enough to make the change."

"You are such an old woman."

"Fatso."

"Shut up."

"Porky."

"Dude, shut the hell up."

Sam patted him on the head, "Am I getting to you Short Round?"

Dean dropped his box of Twinkies and punched his brother round in the stomach. The air went out of Sam's lungs with an "Oof!" and Sam doubled over holding himself.

"Feel that?" said Dean, "That's a man's punch. Comes from a meaty colon. Has a bit of weight behind it."

He patted Sam on the back as he walked back to the room, "You got off lightly. Next time you start this conversation, I'm just gonna sit on you. You have been warned."


End file.
